


One Step Ahead

by fettuccine_alfreylo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Imaginary Sherlock, Kidlock, Magical Realism, Plot Twist, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fettuccine_alfreylo/pseuds/fettuccine_alfreylo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly, aged ten, has only one friend. His name is Sherlock. She has decided that she’s in love with him but there’s one problem: Sherlock isn't real. At least, that's what all the grown-ups say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for Let's Write Sherlock's 4th challenge: 1895 words, last word is "Obviously".

Molly, aged ten, has only one friend. His name is Sherlock.

Of course, Sherlock isn’t the perfect best friend. But he’s not the worst, either. All the same, Molly appreciates his company for several reasons.

To start, she can be herself around him. He always knows what to do when she’s feeling lonely or upset.

 

 

_“I’m sad today.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Dunno. I just am.”_

_A grunt of acknowledgement, followed by, “There’s a deer carcass on the far edge of the forest. Want to see?”_

 

 

He's a few years older than her and makes a point to remind her of the small age gap every chance he gets. Molly isn’t bothered by his boasting. She knows he only does it to impress her, to show off, and that makes her feel giddy inside.

 

 

_"I lost another tooth today, Sherlock! See?"_

_"I lost all my baby teeth ages ago, Molly. You've got a ways to go to catch up."_

 

 

He's incredibly smart but he often misuses this power by testing the limits of her gullibility. The teasing and pranks make funny stories once Molly forgives him, though.

 

 

_"You know what they say about people who swallow watermelon seeds?"_

_Molly wipes at her sticky mouth and worriedly glances down at her piece. "What?"_

_Sherlock skips a stone across the pond and turns to face her, his expression grim. "The seed grows into another watermelon and then the thing explodes from the stomach acid. Nobody has lived through the pain."_

_Molly chucks her watermelon rind into the pond and runs away, bursting into tears._

 

 

Sherlock is very handsome, as well. He has dark, curly hair and eyes that change color depending on his mood. He's pale, tall and talks with a lisp. 

Molly has decided that she’s in love with him.

But there’s one problem.

Sherlock isn't real. At least, that's what all the grown-ups say. 

 

 

_"Is he in the room with you right now, Molly?"_

_Molly turns around in her seat to check. Sherlock is examining the certificates on the farthest wall of the lady's office with a scowl on his face. He's been in a rotten mood all day. She can only guess why._

_"Yes, he is."_

_The nice lady scribbles something on her notepad and then leans forward in her seat to get Molly's attention. "Do you ever feel lonely, sweetie?"_

 

 

In the time spent with him, Molly comes to realize that Sherlock intentionally keeps secrets from her. She suspects it’s his way of protecting her from things left unsaid, things her parents don’t want her to know.

 

 

_"Where do you live?"_

_"I've told you this a thousand times, Molly. I don't live anywhere."_

_"But where do you go when you're not with me?_

_"Ahead."_

 

 

Molly spends hours trying to figure out what he means by that.

(Ahead.)

She never gets far with her thoughts. Sherlock interrupts her frequently and Molly knows better than to ignore him; he sulks for days on end if she does. And he has the nerve to call _her_ a baby!

 

 

_"Are you a ghost?"_

_He doesn't answer the question right away. He's too busy poking at a poisonous-looking toadstool with a stick._

_Molly tries again. "Sherlock?"_

_"No. I'm not a ghost."_

_"Then what are you? I can see you but nobody else can. Mummy and Daddy say you're not real."_

_"I don’t care. You’re the only one who matters, anyway."_

_Molly sighs. It's so frustrating to get a straight answer out of him. "Are you real or not, Sherlock?"_

_Sherlock throws his stick to the ground and stomps away. Molly watches him disappear into the woods._

 

 

He doesn’t come back for a month.

Molly becomes increasingly aware of strange voices during this time apart from him.

The voices always sound worried and hushed; they barely rise above a whisper even when she’s alone. They surround her, suffocate her and make it difficult for her to sleep at night.

She's so frightened of them that she eventually breaks down and confides in her parents. They already know about Sherlock, after all. Hearing voices can’t be that much worse. 

 

 

_"Voices? In your head? Oh, Molly! This is wonderful news. Isn't it, Frank?" her mother asks, teeming with excitement._

_Her father chuckles. "It's more than wonderful. We've been praying that this would happen." He pauses to wipe a tear away and beams at Molly. "We were starting to give up hope that you'd ever hear them, love."_

_Molly doesn’t know what to say. Her parents are overjoyed that she can hear voices inside of her head._

_This scares her more than the actual voices do._

* * *

_When Sherlock finally returns, Molly can't help but run toward him at a breakneck speed. She topples him over onto the grass and then proceeds to cover his face with kisses._

_To her delight, Sherlock doesn't push her away in disgust. He laughs instead. "What's gotten into you, Molly?"_

_"I'm just so glad to see you!  I’ve missed you, Sherlock. Don't ever leave again?"_

_Sherlock pulls away, frowning. "What do you mean, Molly? I didn’t leave.”_

 

 

Lights. Bright, blinding lights. Her head throbs from their intensity. 

The voices have returned. There are only three this time and they fade in volume the longer she concentrates on distinguishing one from another and assigning each voice an owner.

"Sherlock, if you need anything..."

"I'm fine, John. Go home. It’s late. Mary, you as well. I'm sorry to have called you so suddenly. I just thought..."

Sniffling replaces the hushed tones. A woman's tremulous voice disrupts the strained silence after a few minutes. "Don't you dare apologize, Sherlock. Don't you _dare_. We're your friends. We're here for you. Always. Regardless of whether or not she…makes it.”

More sniffling follows this heartfelt promise along with some rustling. Molly suspects they’re hugging each other. It makes sense. Hugs and kisses always work wonders when she’s upset.

Eventually, a door clicks shut. 

Blessed silence fills the room again (save for an electronic beeping noise somewhere close by).

 

 

_"The truth is, Molly, I'm not real. But neither are you. None of this is." Sherlock gestures around the forest with a wave of his hand._

_"I don't understand?"_

_"Put it this way: this has all been a dream. You'll wake up eventually."_

_"What about my parents?"_

_"They're part of the dream, too. They'll cease to exist when you're conscious. Don't be scared, though."_

_"Why?"_

_"I'll be waiting for you."_

_"So you won't cease to exist like them? How will that work if you’re not real?"_

_"It's as I said before: I've never left you and I never will. I've been with you all along, just ahead."_

_"Ahead..."_

_"Yes. Now all you have to do is meet me there."_

A warm hand comes to rest on top of hers. It feels familiar, safe. She’s experienced this touch before although the foggy recesses of her mind refuse to tell her when she has encountered it.

Molly tries to move her own hand in greeting but realizes that she can’t summon the strength to lift a single finger.

Odd.

And disappointing.

Because the person who is touching her – a man – is in tears. He’s crying. It’s quiet and suppressed but she can tell he’s hurting from the way his hand trembles as he strokes hers. Molly is overcome with the need to lace fingers with this person and tell him that it’s alright, that there’s no need to cry.

The fact that she’s physically incapable of comforting him in such a way makes her heart ache in her chest. Her closed eyes fill up with tears, as well.

“Can you hear me, Molly?” he asks. “If you can hear me…please let me know.”

The tears have moistened her eyes to the point where she can roll them back and forth under her lids with only marginal pain erupting in her temple.

When she does this, the man tightens his hold of her hand. The tight grip doesn’t hurt even though logic says it should; perhaps her happiness that he’s touching her has cancelled out any pain she’s supposed to feel.

“I knew you were waking up. I _knew_ it.” A sob emerges from the man’s throat but he cuts it off short. He sucks in a shaky breath and continues, “I was so sure of it that I called John and Mary. They’ve only just left. They drove all the way across London in the middle of the night to see you. You may have heard them talking.”

Molly moves her eyes again, hoping that it will convey her understanding.

Another sob rips from the man’s throat. It’s an ugly, watery sound but it doesn’t bother her the way the voices did; it just makes her eyes well up with a fresh set of tears.

Suddenly, the warm hand lets go of her arm and strokes her face. Finger pads caress her cheeks and wipe away the tear tracks she can’t wipe away herself.

“Don’t cry, love. Don’t cry. I’m here,” the man whispers.

 

 

_“I’ll miss this place,” Molly sighs._

_Sherlock gives her a push on the swing and Molly kicks her legs out in front of her to further propel herself into the air._

_“No you won’t. You just think you will.”_

_Molly doesn’t know what to say to that. She wants to believe him but at the same time…this is the only life she’s ever known. Sherlock insists that it’s not but it feels like it is. And she can’t help the way she feels._

_“I’m happy here,” she points out._

_Sherlock grabs the two ropes that connect the swing to the tree, stopping Molly before she’s able to kick off the ground again. “You’ll be happier when you’re awake,” he insists._

_She turns in her seat to look up at him. “How do you know?”_

_Sherlock kisses the tip of her nose in answer. “I just do. Trust me.”_

 

His lips taste salty through their combined tears but Molly doesn’t care. Any and all contact with him restores her sense of reality and reminds her that _this_ is where she truly belongs.

“I’ve missed you. God, I’ve missed you so much.” Sherlock buries his face in her ratted, unwashed hair and breathes in whatever smell he encounters there.

Molly is too weak to laugh but her voice is slowly returning thanks to several restorative sips of water. She decides to test it out. “Missed you too.”

“You did? But --”

Molly silences him with another kiss. When they resurface for air she rubs her lips across his, unwilling to part with him just yet. She’s been without his touch for a very long time. She has to make up for all the lost time in any way she can.

“I dreamt about you. You were with me constantly. We were children. I met you in my parent’s garden one day. You were trying to catch a bumblebee.” Molly stops and coughs to clear her disused voice. Sherlock helps her take another sip of water, all the while stroking her hair.

“Sounds about right,” Sherlock murmurs once she’s finished.

“Did you dream about me?”

His face crumbles into one of anguish as soon as she asks the question. He surges forward on the cramped hospital bed and presses his forehead against hers. Teardrops fall from his lashes only to land on her face.

“Obviously, Molly. _Obviously_.”


End file.
